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My People

My people, good people bad people
Try them, have a taste, 
How do you like the sweet aloe Vera?

My people are black, dark
Not that it bothers me but
It might explain the odd comportment

My people have black hearts, rotting
From stabs of lovers, or so conjured
Woe unto the young, they drink from this culture

My people have choices, confusing
Do they want you? Maybe, Yes, No
Yet like a dog owner, drag you along

My people are deaf, blind deaf
“He is your brother not mpamba”
Come tomorrow, his bones ripped off of fresh

My people have a habit, bad manners
They hate their black genes
And taint them in breaches

My people have issues, unending
Every single move that you make
Is treated with moot authenticity

My people have complaints, annoying
They want to be great yet sit before televisions
And blame God their father; “why not us?”

My people are weird, absurd
They make laws imposed on others
While they break without hesitation

My people are strange, I love them
These sons and daughters of black kings
It’s not death that I wish on them, they are my people.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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